


Little Ones

by MayM



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Cute, Ew, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidlock, M/M, Smut, Teenlock, but not with the kids, but yeah, holà, johnry, mystrade, that would be weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayM/pseuds/MayM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are two years apart, but that makes no difference to their friendship.<br/>Greg Lestrade, Harry Watson's best friend, has a keen eye for Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So, is there anyone that can play an instrument?” Father Christmas leans forward in his decorated throne and claps his hands on his knees, smiling warmly at all the children. John tentatively raises his hand and looks around. He himself learns the clarinet at school, but he can’t play very well; his fingers are too small to properly stretch over all the holes and make the right notes.  
One other boy has his arm raised highly in the air, his back rod straight and his face one of solid determination.  
“What can you play?” The old man asks John, leaning even closer. John shyly curls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them.  
“I can play the clarinet. But not very well!” He adds hurriedly. Santa beckons him forward and he quickly jumps to his feet. He stands next to him and Santa throws an arm around John’s shoulder.  
“How old are you?”  
“Six.”   
“Excellent! Okay, if you want to pick up the clarinet from over there on the table.” John nods and turns around to grab the clarinet.  
“And yes, you.” Santa chuckles as the other boy leaps to his feet, “What can you play?”  
“The violin!” The boy yells, jumping through gaps in the group.  
“Woah now, steady!” He chuckles as the young boy leaps free and stumbles forward. Santa steadies him, and he giggles wildly. “And what’s your name?”  
The boy bounds towards the startled John and shouts, “Hi! I play the violin!”  
John laughs nervously and smiles at the boy. The other children burst out with laughter and a girl in the front row with frizzy hair pulled into bunches yells out, “Freak!”  
The boy’s face drops and his chin wobbles slightly. He lowers his head and John puts a hand on the other boy’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. The boy shifts his shoulder so John’s hand falls.  
“I’m Sherlock,” The boy says, instead stretching out his hand. John almost giggles at how formal Sherlock is, but shakes it all the same.  
“Sherrock?”  
“No, Sher-lock,” The boy answers irritated yet slightly amused, drawing out the vowels.  
“I’m John,”  
“I know, Jawn.”  
Father Christmas nervously chuckles at the group, at a loss as to what to do at the outburst. John looks to the back to see a boy standing up with the same posture and authority that Sherlock possesses, a black umbrella clasped in his hands and wearing a pin stripe suit. He glares at the children on the floor, a look of horror, disgust and disapproval on his face.  
His eyes keep flicking worriedly up to Sherlock.  
“Is he your dad?” John asks, pointing at the boy. Sherlock bursts into loud laughter.  
“No! He’s my older brother, Mycroft.” The said boy’s eyes fall on John and they narrow slightly, his head cocking to the side as if sizing John up.  
“Come here, little one,” Santa says, smiling at Sherlock and beckoning him forward. “What’s your name then?”  
“Sher… Sherlock.” He mutters, suddenly shy. He looks down at his feet as he shifts, hands clasped behind his back.  
“And how old are you?”  
“Four,”  
“Perfect, go stand with the other boy now… uh, John.” Sherlock spins around and returns to John’s side.


	2. Glances and smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry teases Greg about the boy across the room whom they both believe to be gay.

Greg watches John raise his hand shyly with a smile on his face. He has known John since the day he was born and thinks of him as his own brother.  
Harry has been his best friend since preschool, and although they fight a bit about her drinking and his smoking, they’re as close as twins. John clambers to his feet and stands in front of the thirty other children, and a few adults standing around the circle, his cheeks blossoming with pink.  
“My gaydar is going off like a siren,” Harry mutters, nudging Greg’s stomach and nodding her head to the other side of the dome. Greg sniffs, and hums under his breath as if not caring, but he feels his stomach flutter with just a glance. Since the children had sat down and he saw the boy twirl his umbrella in his hands, Lestrade couldn’t keep his eyes from constantly flicking away from the man dressed as Father Christmas to the boy. “Don’t you think?”  
“Yeah, as is mine,” He answers finally, putting his hands in his back pockets. The boy throws a glance to Greg, scans him, and then darts his eyes back to Father Christmas, a smirk on his lips. Greg looks down at Harry and raises his eyebrows. Harry’s head barely reaches Greg’s armpits, something that Greg loves and Harry hates.  
She giggles, goes on to her tiptoes and stretches up her neck, using his bicep for support. Harry puts her lips close to Greg’s ear, her breath hot on his skin.  
“I think he likes you,” She whispers, before lowering herself back down and winking at him. His eyes drag off her face and go to the boy’s, who’s own quickly leave Greg, a look of disappointment and loneliness curling the corners of his lips downwards.  
“You think?” Greg asks hopefully, not moving his eyes from the enchanting boy.  
“Yeah… And I think you like him too.”  
“I do NOT!” Greg shouts, and then cowers at his outburst. He mouths a sorry at the parents, but they just give him amused looks and turn back to the show. The boy, however, sends scathing, poisoned daggers at Greg and Harry. Greg’s eyes lower to the ground quickly and he swallows down his embarrassment.  
“Okay, now usually we have about four children who can play instruments, and if no one else can, we might have to ask help from the parents.” Santa says, addressing the children in an I-like-adults-as-much-as-you-do-aka-not-at-all voice.  
“Mycroft can play the piano!” Sherlock yells, jumping up and down and pointing at the boy. “He’s my brother and he’s grade ten!”  
“Now, now, Sherlock, I’m grade eight, there are only eight grades.” He answers in a stern, yet softened voice.  
“Woop de fucking woo, he’s an arrogant twat.” Harry mutters, and Greg stamps on her foot, harder than he meant to. “Ouch!” She hisses, glaring at him. “Greg plays the piano too!” She practically screams, and the boy’s head snaps over to Greg, his face expressionless. _He regained control of his emotions quickly_ , Greg thinks to himself.  
Father Christmas laughs his “Ho ho ho!” and then waves to the piano next to him. “Come up and play then, boys. We’re only playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, so go slow for the little ones.” Greg made his way through the crowd, throwing a glower behind his shoulder at Harry, who cackles and waves her hand at him.  
He reaches the end and ruffles John’s hair before standing by the piano and looking for his partner. He spots him half way through the crowd, poking at the children with the end of his umbrella to make them part a path for him.  
“Look just, move, just!” He jabbers at them, receiving looks of outrage from their parents and disbelief from the prodded children. He reaches the end. The boy straightens his suit jacket and clicks his neck, the disgust on his face clear to everyone. He clears his throat and strides towards where Lestrade stands, his eyes fixed on the piano as if forcing himself not to look at Greg.  
“Hi, I’m Greg,” He says quickly, smiling crookedly at the boy.  
“Mycroft,” He murmurs, holding out his hand. Greg refuses to look at Harry as he shakes it, keeping his eyes on Mycroft, but he can still see the unfocused image of her behind Mycroft’s shoulder, pissing herself. He resists the urge to flip her off.


End file.
